


Observer

by acoolgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 22:32:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10603629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acoolgirl/pseuds/acoolgirl
Summary: His mom was dead. Her mom was dead. He liked to be alone. She was always alone. It was a recipe for a great friendship. (If only.)





	

It’s because they were both loners, there but not _present_ , that they became friends, Theo thinks. Well, a rather loose definition of the word, but their relationship, with whatever nomenclature assigned, was not antagonistic in nature, which seemed to be enough for both of them.

He’s in his third year the first time he speaks to her.

( _It isn’t the first time he notices her. That was last year, in the hallway._

“Malfoy, do you see that girl over there?”

“You mean Loony?”

 _Theo had just nodded, relieved that he had not imagined her._ )

He’s sitting at the end of the south-eastern wing, with its large open walls that provide a stunning view of the neighboring mountain range. No one comes here in the winter, even during the day, because of the exposure to the harsh winds, but Theo thinks this is foolish because a simple warming charm is more than practical.

He doesn’t complain though, he likes the solitude. Sometimes, when he’s _really_ tired, he can _feel_ the large, unmoving presence of the mountains. It’s comforting.

But then the sound of uneven footsteps distracts him from his quiet musings, and he turns to see the girl who had been identified to him as Loony, skipping towards him.

She stops in front of him and gives him a dreamy smile.

“Hello. May I sit here?”

He regards her closely for a moment, she has radishes in her ears and multiple quills in her hair, before shrugging and turning back to his book.

“I don’t care,” he answers honestly.

To her credit, she doesn’t pester him with any small talk or introductions, and instead pulls out a notepad, and begins to sketch, what he assumes are the mountains.

She notices him watching, and angles the pad so that he can look too. She has drawn the mountains, but they’re flooded with rays of sunlight peeking through its jagged horizon, which is unusual because it’s a rather overcast day.

“I think the sunlight that shines through mountains is  brave,” she tells him without him having to ask. “It has to overcome so many obstacles, just to come down on us and warm us.”

“It’s just light,” he blinks. He realizes that others of his house may have mocked her strange description of sunlight, but her words feel nostalgic, and nostalgia is associated with only one thing for him: his mother.

“And we’re just people,” she says. “But that doesn’t stop us from feeling like our minds and souls are their own galaxies. Maybe they are.”

“They can’t be,” Theo argues, but not mean spiritedly, but more like a scholar engaged in academic discourse. “Because I exist in your conscious, and you in mine, which means they can’t be separate entities.”

“Everything is separate,” she hums, shading her drawing now. “That’s what makes connections so special.”

He does not say anything after that, and neither does she. When he gets up to leave about fifteen minutes later, she looks up at him and smiles once more.

“Goodbye, Theodore. It was rather lovely talking to you.” she says, and a harsher wind picks up, blowing her long blonde hair behind her, and exposing her face completely to him. She has a very open face, he decides.

He cocks his head, and wonders how she knows his name. Then he decides it doesn’t matter, so he nods.

“Theo. You as well.” and he turns around and walks away, without a single glance back.

 

 

They don’t talk for a long time after their first meeting, but on the few occasions they pass each other in the hallway, she greets him and he nods back. It’s amicable.

 

 

The next time they talk, it’s over a year after their first meeting, and he’s in his fourth year and he’s afraid. Sir Theodore Nott Sr. is going off the rails with the return of the Dark Lord, and if Theodore wasn’t close to his father before, he was close to detesting him now.

He was sitting on a rock at a secluded point of Black Lake. It’s still fall, and the surface of the lake’s edges are colored by bright fallen leaves.

“Interesting, isn’t it, how all the leaves turn bright colors before they die?” Luna asks him, stepping around to seat herself on a seat next to him. Her presence doesn’t bother or shock him, but he’s in a mood where he just wishes he could melt and slip through the crevices of the rocks below him.

“They actually crumple up and become so brittle they turn to dust if you step on them, right before they die,” he corrects in a hollow voice.

He wonders if the war will also shrivel him up. No, that’s too optimistic, he’s going to be plucked off the tree while he’s still green; his father will make sure of it.

“Something is troubling you,” she comments, looking at him with an awaiting expression.

“I’m fine,” he lies easily, knowing his face is coolly masked into an expression of indifference.

“You’re not,” Luna says, and she stops looking at him. “But I understand why you wouldn’t want to say that.”

“And why is that?” he asks, almost snappishly. He doesn’t enjoy being overtly rude ( _his mum always scolded him when he was_ ), but her acute analysis rubs wrong on him. There’s a reason why he feels no compulsion to be surrounded by people always. He likes solitude, he likes keeping people out, and most of all, he hates people getting into his _mind_.

She looks back at him, and he wonders why everyone teases her for having large eyes. He thinks they rather suit her.

“Because you don’t want to be understood,” she finally says. “You argued that we’re all connected, that’s why you live so distantly, because you don’t care for any attachments. “

“What about you?” he questions in annoyance. “I don’t see you running around with a bunch of people who will be your ‘best friends forever!’.”

“Oh, I would love to run around with my best friends forever,” she says honestly. “But Daddy says my insight of the world scares people off.”

“I’ll say,” Theo mutters, but he can’t help but let a ghost of a smile cross his lips at that.

She gets up then, and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Feel better, Theo.”

“Thanks,” he says, but his voice sounds strangled.

He can still feel her hand even after he sees her walk into the castle.

 

It’s ridiculously easy, breaking into Ravenclaw tower. Anyone with even half a wit could have solved the riddle that was given to him.

Figuring out the counter-spell to grant him access up the stairs to the girls dormitory is trickier, but he eventually manages to decrypt it enough so that he can rush up the stairs with his feet only feeling a little bit singed.

He casts a silencing spell on the door marked _fourth year girls_ , and pauses. Is he really going to do this? He sighs, because he already knows the answer.

He enters the room, and is instantly met with the sound of loud snoring. Grimacing at the unpleasant sound, and at how similar it sounds to Goyle’s snoring, Theo scans the room, and finds Luna’s bed rather easily. She’s the only blonde in the room, and he can just make out her yellow hair from the sheen white curtains that drape over her bed.

He slowly walks over to her, mindful of his step. He parts the curtain, and can’t help but feel almost scummy when he places a silencing charm around them.

“Lovegood,” he says, gently shaking her shoulder.

It doesn’t take much to wake her, and when she rolls over to lie on her back, she has for the first time since he’s known her, a confused look on her face.

“Hello, Theo,” she greets, voice thick from sleep. “Is this real?”

Theo nervously chuckles, and runs a hand through your hair.

“Yes, I’m real. I needed to tell you something before we left for summer break.”

“Oh,” is all she says, and she sits up, criss crossing her legs. She pats the empty space of bed in front of her invitingly, and Theo only begrudgingly sits because he thinks it’ll be less awkward than standing over her. “What do you need to tell me?”

“My father is a Death Eater,” he whispers in a rush. “And he off-handedly mentioned in a letter today how I’d be a few classmates short next year. He was one of the Death Eaters you fought at the Department of Mysteries-I think you’re in danger.”

“Does you telling me this mean you’re on Harry Potter’s side?” she asks, the moonlight casting shadows on her face that made her look older than she actually was.

“What does Harry Potter have to do with this?” he hisses, frustrated at how nonchalantly she’s taking all this.

“Everything,” Luna says as if it’s obvious. “I’m fighting for what Harry believes in, which means in war, I’m not a person, but an ideology.”

“Listen, I want Harry to win as much as the next guy,” he confesses. “But you need to understand, I’m just not in a position where I can just pack up my bags and run away from my insane death eating Father. Even if I _did_ do that, which I won’t, because I have no interest in dying young, I wouldn’t be trusted by your side, Slytherin, remember?”

“I trust you.”

He stiffens at this. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Your father wants you to take on the Dark Mark, doesn’t he? Just like Draco.” Luna says, picking up his forearm and placing it in her lap.

“H-how do you know about Draco?” Theo splutters, as she lifts up the sleeve of his shirt and begins to draw patterns on his still bare flesh, her touch so light, if he wasn’t watching he may not have felt it at all.

“It’s obvious. The mark isn’t just superimposed onto your flesh, is it?”

“No,” he answers unnecessarily. “I don’t want it…But I-“

“I understand, Theo,” she says, taking him by surprise. “You feel obligated to your father because he’s the only family you have left.”

He forcibly yanks his arm away from her soft hands and glares at her. “How do you know about my mother?!”

“Because my mummy died when I was young too.”

It’s an illogical answer, but it fills him with guilt anyways.

“I hate war,” he whispers to her, placing his arm back into her lap.

She doesn’t answer, just goes back to tracing patterns. He has to concentrate for nearly half an hour before he figures out what she’s drawing on his arm.

_Good will win_

He almost believes that, until a few months later, he learns from his smug father that she’s been imprisoned in Malfoy Manor.

The anguish that came from hearing that, which very much nearly threatened to consume his entire being, he supposes, is his fault. He _was_ the one that made the attachment, even when it was she who said they were separate universes.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm...may or may not add one more chapter to this. As for now I'm content with the slow build of their relationship


End file.
